


The Amateur Kidnap

by Emilywho



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilywho/pseuds/Emilywho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Emily find themselves dumped in the middle of the woods. How did they get there? She knew something like this would happen when she moved into 221C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Endless Night

My head pounds as I open my eyes to complete darkness. As I attempt to lift my head, damp leaves cling to my left cheek and in an instant my heart begins to race. This isn't a familiar environment. There is a smell of damp wood and wet grass, slight moisture and mist is in the air. I can't make sense of anything. The last thing I remember was being sat at my laptop catching up on emails in the flat, with the fire in the hearth dying down. I'm on my side, and without too much movement, in case of traps, I check myself. No bones broken or sprains, I can't smell or feel blood. Yet. I carefully run my hands over my clothes, no rips, and my keys and phone are in the pockets of my leather jacket. I wasn't wearing a jacket at home. I am so confused.  
What are the chances I have signal on my phone? I take it out my pocket, 'NO SERVICE', 'long shot' I croak to myself. My throat is sore and scratchy but I swallow a couple of times and the dryness is gone. I try to slow my breathing to hear for anything around me, traffic, birds, anything. There is nothing.  
An image of you flashes in my mind. Why do I think of you? Do I think you're to blame? Are you here?  
I decide to try and stand and work out my surroundings. Slowly I get to my feet, a little unsteady at first but once my head has stopped spinning, my eyes continue to try and adjust. I look around and see the outlines of trees in every direction. A forest? The woods? The only light is from the clear night sky, a faint glow from a distant city miles and miles away.  
My phone says 1.08am, I was in the flat after 9pm so I can't be too far away from home then, still in the UK. Look at me deducing. You've rubbed off on me.  
My heart rate is still dangerously high but adrenaline is giving me a high that I shouldn't be enjoying.  
“So which way do I walk? No sun, no moon to navigate from.” In my mind speaking out loud is helping me to think.  
Thankfully it's a clear sky and stars are my thing, to much mockery from you. I find the constellation of the Plough, very recognisable in the northern hemisphere. I then find Polaris. A star that points a degree from true north. With a rough compass in my head I start to walk. It must be some sort of homing signal, I’m not entirely sure why I head North.  
Suddenly the cold hits me. I hadn't even considered the temperature until now. There is a bitter wind which is catching what is left of my scattered breath. I'm trying to rationalise what is happening.  
I have no idea how long I have been walking. Every so often I have to catch my balance on a wet leaf or stumble on a log blocking my path. Endless trees block my path but I keep my eyes on Polaris. Part of my mind wants to think about the seriousness of this, the practicalities. The danger of possibly staying out here until morning.  
I hear a twig snap somewhere ahead. Instinctively I step behind a tree and hold my hand over my mouth to quieten my breathing. I pluck up the courage to slowly peer around the side of the tree in the general direction of the noise whilst trying to make myself as small as possible. A shadow of a tall figure appears 20 meters ahead. My eyes are so wide trying to take in as much light as possible to prepare myself for what could happen. Amongst the mist I can make out a silhouette of a sweeping coat. No one has a walk or granted, a sweeping coat, like you do. My stomach drops as I realise who it is.  
“Sher..Sherlock!” I try to gasp,“Sherlock!”  
You twirl around to see me and take long strides towards me with open arms. I didn't expect that to be your reaction but I don't hesitate and surprise myself in running towards you, and jumped in for a hug.  
“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” you say with panic in your voice while releasing me from your grasp and gripping onto my shoulders looking at my face.  
“I'm fine, I'm fine, bloody frozen but fine, you?”  
“Fine too. Have you seen anyone else?” You look around constantly on guard.  
“You're the first person, Are we assuming John's out here too?” I suddenly remember John was in the flat too, pottering around in the kitchen.  
“Yes, chances are we'll find him too, no one would have placed us so close together for us not to find each other.”  
You march off towards the North with me running up behind you to catch up.  
“Sherlock, what's happening? Who kidnaps someone, dumps them in the woods with their phones, their friends and not hurt them?”  
“I don't know. I....just don't.” It's not often to hear the great detective stumped for words, but granted this is an odd situation, even for you.  
“Well we're not far from home. And to my knowledge, there aren't any forests of wooded areas in the UK that are big enough to be lost in for days, most are in Scotland, there hasn't been enough time to get that far, we'll find an opening soon. It's hardly the Dales.” I'm babbling, why am I babbling?  
“How do you know this isn't the Dales.”  
You know the answer to that but I know you're just digging to see if I'm learning. “The Dales are at least 2000 feet above sea level. The air here is far too heavy. And there are no hills”  
You turn to look at me with, from what I can make out, a surprised look on your face.  
“Wow, very impressive, I didn't realise how knowledgeable you are.” I ignore the insult.  
“It's amazing what adrenaline does to the brain.”  
“Welcome to my world.” I sense a smirk whilst you say that with that low rumble of a voice.  
A huge shiver runs through me while we continue to battle through the wind.  
“Here, take my coat,” You start to take your huge woollen coat off and offer it to me.  
“What? No don't be daft, you'll freeze. Thanks though.” I can't think of anything better than wearing that coat right now, regardless of who owns it.  
“Then at least take my gloves and scarf.” I must remember the cold brings out the niceness in you. God help us all in summer.  
I almost rip your hand off while accepting them. I wrap your scarf around my neck, and within a split second of realising I was about to wear it in the same style you do, undo it and simply wrap a few times around my exposed neck. I put on your leather gloves.  
“What is the point in gloves with holes in?” These are your silly gloves with holes in the knuckles. I assume some feeble attempt to look vaguely threatening to any opponent.  
“You have to be able to get your hands in somehow.”  
You're being funny. Here, really?  
“Don't make me laugh, we could be anywhere about to die.”

I feel quite content. I realise I'm having an argument in my own head, between the reality of what was happening, no food, no water, warm clothes, any knowledge of where we are, why we were kidnapped or if we'll find John, anyone else or live to see another day. The other argument was that this was thrilling. Ever since I moved into Baker street, there has been excitement. Seen, felt, experienced things I never thought I would.  
Sherlock turned his head to me and must have realised I was having this internal battle.  
“What is it?”  
“Hmm? Oh nothing.” I try to warm my hands while keeping an eye on the stars,  
“I've seen that look before,” he deduces.  
“Is it wrong to say that this is actually really exciting.” It feels good to have resolved the argument.  
“Are you saying this life is rubbing off on you?” He was looking irritatingly smug with himself.  
“Dumped in the middle of the woods at night with Sherlock Holmes. Best Tuesday night since my 21st Birthday.”

 

 

You seemed to smirk for a micro second then back to being deep in thought.  
“Have you noticed anyone hanging around recently? Anyone odd asking you questions about you, me, Lestrade, John?”  
“I can't think, nothing out of the ordinary. Why what are you thinking?” I wish I could be more helpful.  
“Neither of us are hurt, nothing missing, they're even letting us navigate from the stars to set us on our way. It's almost like they are watching us work.”  
His face turned to pure concentration. If I didn't know you any better I would say you are in your Mind Palace trying to recall any clues to our situation.  
We walk in silence for a good 10 minutes before I thought I should say something to see if you were still present.  
“Navigating by the stars? So you headed North too?”  
“Hm, there's no hiding the fact you are very loyal to where you come from. I figured if you were here you'd head North, best bet to find you, you and your space stuff.” I was genuinely surprised you'd taken an interest in my interests.  
“You know the stars then? I heard from John you didn't know the Earth revolved around the sun until a year ago.”  
“Well I've got to do something with my time between cases. Nicotine patches just don't have the edge any more.”  
I was very impressed. I also found it comforting that both you and I had resorted to ordinary conversation. I once again felt the chill of the winter weather.  
“When we get back I'm buying you proper gloves.”  
You looked down at my hands, stuffed into the tiny, impracticable pockets of my jacket.  
“Here.” You take hold on my left hand and stuff it into the right pocket of the Belstaff with yours. It was like you had a heater stuffed in there. The thick wool burnt the visible raw skin of my hand. You see the relief on my face.  
“Told you you should have accepted my offer.”  
“Erm...thanks.” You're not one for gestures of kindness or consideration, but I genuinely am grateful.  
Not only did my hand feel warm, but my face has suddenly warmed up. It was a good job it is dark, you have an awful habit of being able to deduce what precisely has made anyone blush.  
Suddenly, a flash of torchlight lit up our faces for a second and then into darkness again. We stopped dead in our tracks then in a single beat, in sync, run behind the nearest tree. Selfishly, I don't want to take my hand out of your pocket and almost cursed the interruption under my breath. You have your head peering around the tree while I stand with my back to yours on lookout behind us.  
“Could it be John?” I whisper,  
“There's two of them. Both too tall for John.” You were calculating routes, escape plans in a matter of seconds.  
“Ha, he'd love hearing you say that.”  
“Shhh!” Ok, you're being serious.  
“I'm going to talk to them. They know we're here. When I give you the signal, you come out and follow my lead.” As you explained the plan, you hand me a gun, “You'll need this.”  
“Hang on, they let you keep a gun?!” Nothing about this makes sense, I hope you know what's happening. And before I had chance to protest against being willing to shoot anyone tonight you had floated out from behind the tree, with your hands clasped behind your back and confidently striding towards the two men. I found it hard to focus on the scene, the flashlights the men had seemed to be as bright as the sun and takes a while for my eyes to adjust. When they had, I saw two men. One was tall, with a long leather jacket, plain glasses, a shaved head and a gun. The other simply wore a black suit with dark, gelled back hair. If you wanted two stereotypical villains, here they were, to add to the simply surreal evening I was having. As soon as I saw the gun, I grow fearful for you, you know what you're doing right? I clicked. The signal to me will be from your hands clasped behind your back. Too risky for a verbal signal right? Or am I thinking too much about that? I need to be focussing on what’s being said.  
“Mr Holmes,” the guy in the suit growled. Very obviously not a local, a distinct European accent. “We know you aren't alone. Now where is the girl.”  
I swear I could see your hands and back tighten when that was said.  
“This is a pathetic attempt at observing us at work, why not interrogate us instead? Far less messy and cold.” You keep your voice calm and steady.  
“Ah Mr Holmes, we know how you work, we wanted to see you dance and play. It's a shame really as you three may have made it out alive already if you were quicker.” My stomach flipped, so John is here. Where is he? He can't be dead, he described the three of us as present tense.  
“It's a game then, to see who, is any, could get out alive yes? Wanted to fool me into thinking mine and my friends lives were in peril. Ametuers. Even Anderson could have done a better job. Your stance tells me John is fine, but still wandering around. Forgotten where you left him have you? He's cleverer than you think, he's fought in wars, he's fine.” You seem to know what you're talking about...  
“Your lady friend of yours not so much though?” The suited guy stepped closer.  
“I've seen her fight off a whole gang of Russian spies. I'd like it if you held her in higher regard.”  
Thanks love, make up heroic stories for me, I hope to God you aren't pep talking me into anything dangerous here.  
Without raising alarm, you slowly shift yourself towards the guy pointing a gun at you, and in doing so, the suited guy moved in sync towards my hiding place but with his back to me. Sherlock you clever thing, I've caught up with you now.  
“That won't happen right now I’m afraid. Maybe when she's dead.”  
I see you glance up to me and with your right hand do a sly thumbs up. Well I was expecting some ultra secret code but that'll do. My cue. I prepare the gun in my hands. It feels scarily comfortable for a real scenario. Of course I remember some of the lessons in gun handling you've given me over the past few months.  
I creep up behind Mr suit and point the gun to his head. It's a slightly awkward angle as he's a good 6 inches taller than me.  
But what really took me by surprise, wasn't my complete lack of fear, over thinking what could or might happen, but that in the 2 seconds it took me to aim the gun, you had disarmed leather guy, knocked him unconscious and aimed the second gun at Mr suit.  
“Before we take you out too, because frankly killing you would mean nothing, interrogating you in a warm room is more appealing right now, so it's your lucky day,” You explain to the suit man while moving closer. “Would you do the honours?” You look at me with a mischievous grin. I remembered I once told you how I got away from a mugger by kneeing him between the legs and I felt incredible. Sherlock you terrible man.  
“With pleasure.” I gleefully replied.  
And with that I thrust all the energy and adrenaline I had in me into my knee, and while stood behind him, made the man collapse in front of me in pain. Maybe getting a little too much satisfaction out of it. You strap pairs of handcuffs you find on Mr suit on the two of them while I take hold of both guns, still aiming one out into the darkness just in case.  
“We still have the small task of finding John.” I say breathlessly.  
“John's at home.”  
For a brief second I feel dread. That you set this whole thing up. That's the thing with you, never certain you're always the good guy.  
“John was never here, he used him to play on emotion and provoke more reaction, clearly they haven't done their research on me. I suspect John wasn't as easy to get hold of, perhaps at Mary's.”  
I feel relieved and stupid, of course you weren’t in on this.  
“Then it's the small matter of finding our way out with these two.” I remind you,  
“Ah yes. Remind me to get us and Lestrade GPS trackers when we get home. Always thought they might come in handy one day, but what's bothering me more is why the frankly pathetic attempt of this charade? Perhaps someone new is on the scene.”


	2. The Office

Another hour passes by and I have successfully managed to write only 4 more sentences. As a junior who gets paid minimum wage in the police service, I get the most paper work. It's not exactly what I moved to London for but you've got to start somewhere. And I must be grateful that I got straight into Scotland Yard, takes some people years, it's who you know. In the case of Sherlock Holmes anyway. My eyes strain in the quickly darkening room, down sides to living in a basement flat. The constant smell of damp is an unwelcome addition, but when you've lived in various student houses for years you learn a trick or too to mask the smell and delay the growth.   
The soothing sound of a violin makes it way down the stairs and through the walls. You can hold a tune. I used to listen to classical music at university while studying, the lack of words helps to concentrate my mind on learning. The slow, soothing tune suddenly turns into a familiar one. What is that?   
I go to look at my phone, buried in my duvet. Texts.  
'Upstairs. SH'  
'Please. SH'  
I don't know how I'm going to put up living here.   
Who am I kidding, it's fun.   
The tune you played on the violin was my text alert noise, to tell me to check my phone. Well played.  
I leave my pokey little flat and climb the stairs into 221B.   
The living room is cluttered with papers, books and notes, you haven't let Mrs Hudson hoover. You stand there in your blue silk dressing gown over a white shirt and suit trousers, violin in one hand and the bow pointing at the wall with the other. I turn to look at the wall to see no trace of wallpaper. Nothing but papers, maps, photographs all pinned to the wall.   
“What am I meant to be looking at? I was in the middle of writing up reports...”  
“Oh Lestrade will give you an extended deadline, this is more important. Those two men we met in the woods, aren't even legitimate hit men. Just actors, and awful ones at that. Someone went to a lot of trouble to stage this bizarre play.” You pace up and down the room flicking the violin bow around like a sword.  
“Well I don't know if they gained anything from that little exercise but that cold I got from that night has only just gone. That reminds me, I hope you thanked your brother for getting us out of there instead of sulking.”  
“I could clearly have got us home, Mycroft just has a power complex.”  
“Sherlock I'm a psychologist, I actually know what that means. I think you're the one with the complex...besides it was an army training facility owned by the government. Mycroft will have noticed someone broke in.”  
“I'll just continue to talk at the skull then if you're not interested.” You turn your back and flick the bow at the skull on the mantelpiece.  
“No no, go on. Anything to distract me from another psychoanalysis report.” I suppose I could do with a break.  
“We woke up with our coats on, phones, keys and they gave me a gun. We were less than a mile apart in Thetford Forest. What does that tell you?”  
“It was someone who knew the area, so knows the army? The government facilities? Also someone who knows us, cares a little, to put us in our coats.”  
“Exactly. Mycroft is no use either. Alarms set off but no way of knowing who hired the two actors.”  
“What about John? He might have some insight as to who has that sort of information.” My brains starts to get into gear. It must be someone who knows us pretty well.   
I walked closer to the wall to inspect the collection of information. There were pictures of the two men but from an acting agency, and various other roles they'd been in, including they're CV's.   
“Coronation Street?! Blimey.”  
“Again, awful actors.” You were now sat in your armchair, hands steepled under your chin.

“Morning,” John walks into the flat, shortly followed by Mary, his new girlfriend. I realise I'm still in my pajamas and feel a little self conscious, “Any luck with the woodland kidnappings?”  
“Not quite, figuiring out a motive is the tough bit.” I move towards the door and are about to make my excuses to go get changed.  
“Have you been back to the woodland and checked for how they broke you two in?” Mary chirped, “Sorry, it's all I've been thinking about, I would have been terrified.”  
“Mycroft reports no foul play and the entrance sites and perimeters were intact, I suspect an old army member or client. I'm heading down there this morning to rake through the records. Are you joining me John? Emily? Mary I suppose you can come along...if you want.” Rude, but getting better Sherlock.  
“I need to head to the Yard, promised I'd get some reports to Greg before the Inspector arrives, let me know what you find.” Going on a case would be a much needed escape but I have work to do, Besides, I get texts from you constantly keeping me up to date with the odd grumble and sarcastic comment about John's dress sense.  
“I don't know how Lestrade coped before you, almost feel bad for stealing you away on cases now and again.” You smirk while I accept the rare compliment.  
“I know, I need paying more, see you all later, call me if you need anything.” I look over to you and you smile as I leave, I glance to see John sit in his chair.

John seems happier. I think Mary is good for him, granted I don't know a lot about Mary, and the psychologist in me is screaming something at me about her. I can see the way Sherlock looks at her that he feels something similar about John's new love interest too. I might suggest a coffee with her one day. I walk down the stairs and back into 221C and see the pile of papers and empty mugs of tea. I chose an outfit and jump in the shower, ready for another day at the office, while my mind is still on the case of that endless night. 

My eyes feel scratchy as another report is filed and sent off. Greg keeps looking over at me from his little glass prison of an office. He worries about Sherlock just as much as I do, of course he does, he's known him for the best part of 8 years now.  
The little envelope icon flashes up on my desktop signalling a new email. I swear if this is another update from Sherlock on the state of Mrs Hudson's love life I will scream.  
'DOES THIS LOOK FAMILAR' it reads along with a map reference. I instantly think it's spam, the email address is full of numbers and letters, yet I am incredibly bored and the risk of infecting the works computer with a virus can be considered thrilling right now. I copy and paste the map reference into a search engine and the resulting image flips my stomach.   
“It can't be.” Instinctively I go to reach for my phone. The map is of the woods in which me and Sherlock were dumped in. But with a pin on a precise spot. My guess being the spot I woke up at.  
You are on speed dial. Course you are. I didn't put you there. You did that one night I snoozed off reading one evening.  
“Yeah?” You sound as if I caught you in the middle of thought.  
“Sherlock, I've just got an email....”  
“Oh I stopped sending you emails at work ages ago, I got the message..”  
“No no, I don't know who it's off but it had a map reference on it which I searched and it's the exact spot I got dumped at in those woods. I assume. With the message 'does this look familiar'.”  
“Do not leave work. We're on our way.” And you hung up. I glance over to Greg, who of course was staring at me through the whole phone conversation. Greg walks over.  
“Everything OK?”  
“Don't be mad, Sherlock and John are on their way over. Possibly with Mary. I've just got an email linking to mine and Sherlock's kidnapping.” I know how frustrated Greg gets when you waltz in all tall and solves things within seconds.  
“Oh God, well this is urgent I suppose. Let me see?” I show him the email and map image, he leans over me to get a good look at the screen, “I can trace for a IP address, but I'm assuming these people are smart and it will only lead us on a wild goose chase. I'll get that sorted before he gets here, just in case.”  
“Thanks Greg.” I can't help but sense that you make Greg feel less superior and important. Greg is also very grateful, I know that.

I've been staring at the email address for a good 10 minutes when you arrive. Trying to find some significance to the numbers, a code? A reference? Greg goes to speak but you stop him before he has chance.  
“Don't bother searching for an IP address. Those numbers can get hacked, it'll be meaningless.”  
“Sherlock there could be something in it, you said yourself the whole kidnapping was so pathetic, maybe they aren't all that clever.”  
“No they are clever, those men were working for someone else. That whole night was meant to be amateur to throw us off the scent.”  
I offer you my chair while you investigate the email. I look around the office and see a few rolling eyes and hear the odd tut.  
“Thought Mary might have been with you John?”   
“She had to work, be back later though.” He says with a grin. Must remember to invite her to coffee one morning.  
“Any luck?” John leans over your shoulder.  
“This email has been re-routed and was sent from your email account. I told you you should have a better password than 'mcfly4ever'.”   
“Sherlock shh!” I am embarrassed to say the least, “I've had the same password since school. Well not any more I won't be.” Trying to defend my choice of password.  
“You've been hacked basically. They've trawled through all your emails then sent one from here to you whilst changing the output name, or sent email address.”  
You turn to look at me with that stupid 'I told you so' face. Damn you.


	3. Welcome Unconsciousness

I was still at my desk at 11.30pm. Sherlock and John had gone off to investigate some lead they had regarding the email I had got earlier in the day, which I had almost forgotten about as it seemed like a week ago. I glanced at my phone, three text messages.  
'Possible lead on the email, will keep you updated SH.'  
'John is wearing that stripy thing again today, I thought you has words with him? SH.'  
'He's still wearing it SH.'

I smile reading them. You don't realise you're being funny.  
My phone starts to ring, it's Greg.  
“You're still in the office aren't you?”  
“Yeah I am, I've nearly finished I...”  
“Emily, go home, you've been there all day. You must know me by now, I'll give you an extra few days, just go sleep.”  
“Yeah OK I guess I should, thanks.”  
“No problem, remember, any problems ring me.” He put the phone down.  
Greg was being very sweet about the whole kidnapping. It did make me start to wonder what his intentions were, but I have to remember that you have known Greg for years and he worries about you, I'm connected to you now so I guess I'm part of that.

I gather my things up into my bag and turn my computer off. The office is empty apart from the odd person finishing off paperwork. I get in the lift and press the ground floor button.  
It's chilly outside and it takes me by surprise after being in a warm office all day. Just as I button my coat up a black Rolls Royce pulls up in front of me.  
“Oh you have got to be kidding me.” it's Mycroft. How on earth does he do that? I just want my bed, I am not in the mood.  
I am grateful for the warmth, I must admit, as I climb in.  
“Evening Anthea.”  
“Hmm.” Buried in her phone.

“Ahh Emily, how was work today?” Mycroft sits in a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. My God I would love to have a therapy session with him. So much trauma, bullying, childhood history in him I need to get at.  
“Please make this quick, I just want to get a Chinese takeaway and eat in in bed and sleep for two days.”  
“I take it Sherlock has been on your kidnapping case?”  
“He’s been on it all day. I got an email with the exact coordinates where I was left in the woods.”  
“I know, rather sloppy don't you think?” Mycroft looks at his shoes.  
“I honestly don't know, it was terrifying, and I'm so tired I can't think coherently.”  
“OK I'll get to it. I want you to come and work for me.” I stare at him thinking he was going to carry on his sentence or joke and say something else.  
“What? You want me to work for the Government?” I feel so delirious, I wouldn't be surprised if I was dreaming this.  
“Well, strictly speaking yes, but for me. I can assure you the pay is quite substantial.”  
“I can imagine. Erm, I...I would have to speak to Greg..I mean I am flattered and thank you.” Would this be good for me? I would be rich and the cases would be so much more interesting, but I know the world Sherlock and Mycroft are in involved with. And Greg. He needs me, that's not me being ahead of myself, I take the flak for him and the amount of cases we've got through since I've been with the Yard is staggering.  
“I’ll think about it. I mean, really think about it.”  
“That’s all I ask,” Mycroft turns to walk away, “You look terrible, get some sleep”  
Charming.

I almost choke on a yawn sat in the back of Mycroft’s car. I am still wary of using cabs after you told me about the case which John so poetically named ‘A study in Pink.’ The car pulls up outside 221B, the sign from Speedy’s next door, reflecting in the windows.  
“Thanks.” I may be tired but my manners have not escaped me.  
I unlock the door and instinctively walk upstairs. What am I doing, my flat is downstairs? I hear footsteps above. But they aren’t familiar footsteps. Despite how tired I am, my body goes into stealth mode as I slowly and quietly climb the stairs towards Sherlock’s flat. I try my best to peer around the corner of the open door while being as small as I can, and suddenly see a flash of blonde hair. And perfume.  
“Oh Emily! Hi!” Mary jumps out from behind the door, startled.  
I jump back slightly,  
“Oh hi, is Sherlock here? Or John?” I ask while slyly scanning the room, there is no sign of them.  
“Nope, sorry,” Mary’s eyes dart about, clearly sensing my confusion, “oh, I’m just looking for something I left here earlier. I thought you were out with the boys? Sorry, you must be shattered, I’ll be on my way.” She’s babbling.  
Mary grabs her coat and sweeps out the door. Well that was odd. Perhaps my brain is being overly suspicious of everyone this evening, Christ I need to sleep.  
I head downstairs and stumble into my basement of a flat. The faint smell of damp greets me every single time. I switch on the two lampshades in two corners of the room. A subtle attempt to make the room look bigger. I walk towards my bed and remove my jewellery and place it in my trinket box on the dressing table. I blame my weary brain once more, but if I’m not mistaken, it looks as though it’s moved position. I suddenly get a pang of dread. There isn’t anything valuable in there, but sentiment. I am convinced nothing is missing, but after recent events, I can’t take anything lightly. I make a mental note to run it past you in the morning.  
Finally. Some very welcome unconsciousness. 

A glass beaker smashes upstairs and wakes me up.   
“Arghh for crying out loud!” I hear you cry. Thanks Sherlock, I only asked for a bit of quiet while I rested, it’s only...5.20pm. 5.20pm?!  
I’ve been asleep 16 hours. And suddenly, as my brain wakes up, my body reacts to the long period of unconsciousness, nature calls.

There is no point in dressing now, and I put on my dressing gown and go see what’s happening upstairs. The closer I get to the top, the more I can hear Mrs Hudson mumbling under her breath about the effect of acid on wood floors among the sound of shards of glass on wood.  
“Oh now, you look better dear! Would you like some tea?” Mrs H, you are a star.  
“Afternoon. Yes that would be amazing thank you. I feel like I’ve been asleep days.”  
“You must have needed it.” Your voice booms from behind me and I twirl around to answer you.  
“Yeah, I really did. Hang on, did I see you last night? No. I didn’t.” There was something I was going to tell him wasn't there?  
“Are you delirious now? That’s what Mrs Hudson’s tea will only encourage.”  
“I heard that.” Says a slightly disheartened Mrs Hudson in the kitchen.  
“No. I was going to tell you something when I woke up. That’s irritating.”


End file.
